Bush, Democrats Lay Claim To Compassion Crown

When Texas Gov. George W. Bush started talking about himself as a "compassionate conservative," there were snickers everywhere.

It's an easy snicker. And because we in the media define the terms of debate, it didn't take long to pronounce sentence on Bush's philosophy:

Compassionate conservatism was considered to be political bubble gum, an impossibility, a trite slogan that couldn't disguise the horns hidden in that big Republican hair.

So compassionate conservatism was ridiculed, by many in my business and by many Democrats too. Even a few conservatives made with the jokes. And you'll hear more ridicule next week, when the truly compassionate Democrats hold their convention in Los Angeles.

But how can a conservative be compassion-ate?

Every one knows this cannot be. According to the unofficial media dictionary, "conservative" means "extremist," which also suggests danger and threat--like the sinister Dick Cheney.

Compassion--at least the kind discussed in the hyperspace of oversimplified TV debate--is an attribute appropriated by the left. It is measured by how many tax dollars are pumped into a program, even if those programs don't work, even if the programs hurt the victims who are supposed to be helped.

(It's sort of like measuring the faith of the guy in the pew next to you by how much he forks over into the collection tray. If his money makes a clinking sound, everybody knows he's going to hell, right?).

And if you oppose such programs, you're not only wrong, you're not only devoid of human feelings, you've got goat hooves. So it's easy to see how conservatives can't have compassion. We who define the terms say so. And goats don't have cable.

But let a conservative change his point of view, and we'll call that "evolving." (The word "evolving" is big on cable talk shows, like "gravitas"). The clear implication is that conservatives are single-celled worms--while the ever-evolving bipeds and other enlightened vertebrates support federal arts funding without question.

I'm writing this on a Sunday, the day when many folks reflect on virtues like compassion. Only a few days ago, I was in Philadelphia, in the convention hall, watching George W. Bush accept the Republican presidential nomination. And I was stunned.

Bush asks questions that should be discussed--not only by Republicans, but by Democrats too. And they all involve compassion. Such as:

Wouldn't it be compassionate not to pith innocent, fully formed babies who are about to be born? Isn't it time to compassionately end the horror of partial-birth abortion?

And since parents must give permission if their minor daughter decides to get her tongue pierced, wouldn't it be in the interests of compassion if those parents were notified that their daughter is visiting an abortionist?

And wouldn't it be compassionate to hold teachers unions at least partly responsible for the level of education offered in many inner-city classrooms?

Is it right to saddle hard-working moms and dads with 40 percent tax rates? Would it be compassionate to cut tax rates and allow a dad or mom to stay home with their own kids?

Or is it more compassionate to use federal tax credits and corporate pressure, and round children up into large groups so they can be warehoused and tended by strangers?

Is it compassionate to say that the trillion-dollar federal surplus doesn't belong to the government--but actually belongs to the people who paid the taxes in the first place?

Are these rude questions? Don't their subjects inspire compassion too?

"What is asked of us?" Bush said in his acceptance speech. "This is a remarkable moment in the life of our nation. Never has the promise of prosperity been so vivid. But times of plenty, like times of crisis, are tests of American character.

"Prosperity can be a tool in our hands--used to build and better our country. Or it can be a drug in our system--dulling our sense of urgency, of empathy, of duty."

In the next few weeks, the ridicule machine will start up again. Bush will be damned as a phony.

And many Democrats who pride themselves on being compassionate, and for championing the weakest and least powerful in our society, will be busy in Los Angeles.

What's ironic is that the modern Democratic Party is also the party that supports abortion and has spent decades angrily denying the humanity of what is aborted.

How is that compassionate?

I'm wondering, at the Democratic National Convention in L.A., if they'll talk in compassionate terms about the millions and millions of innocent lives aborted in America since the mid-1970s.

Those first few million babies would be in their mid- to late 20s by now. If they weren't killed in the womb, they'd be old enough to be parents themselves. So imagine them, as parents, with their own little ones.

And imagine those little ones smiling on their parents' shoulders, waving flags when politicians speak compassionately about protecting the helpless.